Monster Hunters of Monsters
by callushominis
Summary: Sarah Hunt sold her soul a few years back, thinking she would get 10 years in return. Little did she know she'd be taken prematurely and thrust into a much different position than she expected: a rare species of hunter who herself is a demon. Rated T for strong language, gore, and possible "racy" scenes.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Yes, this fic does not feature any of the main characters of the show. I just said it did because I couldn't publish it without saying it featured one of them. This is just a way to set the backstory, so just give it a few chapters. Then it should get interesting. Sorry if you were expecting some Destiel or Wincest.**

Chapter 1

My eyes flew open into another blanket of pitch blackness. Shit, I was still in my coffin. So much for getting out of Hell cleanly.

I patted my body down, hoping that I'd been buried with something that could either light everything up a little or could help me climb out of my grave...all I could get my hands on were my keys-of course! My family knew I loved my car, so they buried my keys with me! Brilliant! Now all I had to hope for was that I could muster up enough strength-Wait.

Rachiel had told me I was an archdemon. Maybe I could just blast a hole through the soil and claw my way out...I took a deep breath and slowly lay my palms on the silk-lined wood of my coffin, focusing all my attention on procuring a huge blast of fire that ripped through what proved to be about six feet of dirt. Some splinters and chunks of dirt showered back down upon me, which I spat out and brushed off my body-Was I wearing a suit? I'd think my family would override my living personality and slap some disgusting, frilly monstrosity on me before burying me.

I sat up, stretching myself out a bit before hauling myself onto the perfectly manicured grass of the cemetery that was luckily deserted. I didn't even see a jackrabbit foraging for food. "Yay-" I ended up wheezing rather than speaking normally; a sign that I should have probably been trying to find some water to chug down and some food to fill my body back up...and while I was at it I would be better off finding some hunting supplies as well. It was my only career option now that any record of Sarah Hunt was most likely erased due to my being legally deceased now. I stood up carefully, not wanting to overwork what used to be my corpse.

I glanced around to get my bearings in the graveyard, straining to see through the blur that was all too familiar. Apparently being a succubus didn't fix a meatsuit's eyesight. Fuck. Glasses were now at the top of my list of supplies.

I walked briskly through the rows of gravestones and down the street, hearing sirens getting closer and closer as I went. A cop car sped by, engine roaring as I obscured my face under the pretense of the lights being too bright...I needed to get out of town as soon as possible, or people might recognize me and call me out on not being dead.

I slipped into a convenience store and perused the various snack foods, passing by a newspaper on my way up to the register. When I squinted enough to read the date on it, I realized it was January 23, 2008; ten months following the car crash that took me prematurely. I muttered, "Damn..." It had felt something like a century in Hell, half the time I was whipping the shit out of other souls, thinking it was my only way out. Silly me. I grabbed the paper and slid it toward the cashier, who said to me, "...Do I know you from somewhere?"

I breathed, "Must have one a' those faces..." As soon as he rung up the bottle of water, I tore it open and downed half of it, which made him say, "Thirsty?"

I nodded.

"What's with the suit?"

"Job interview."

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"Nope. Goodnight." I slammed a five hidden in my bra-Where'd that come from? Nevermind-and made my way out to the parking lot, where I hotwired a crappy old Accord and drove off for the edge of the suburbs. It wasn't until I'd hit the border that I realized what was happening and broke down. I'd never see John again. Ever. I was stuck with all the hunting knowledge I'd gathered before going to Hell.

I tried my best to get the idea out of my head, but he mattered so much to me that my eyes were soon flooded with tears and I had to pull into a McDonald's parking lot and just let the waterworks go.

I cranked up the radio and sobbed, slamming my hand onto the steering wheel in sheer frustration and anguish; I kept beating the hell out of the car until I was too exhausted to continue. John had probably been the single most important person to me, and now I was willing to bed that he died in the crash as well.

But I couldn't sit there much longer. The sun was beginning to come up, and the radio was reporting a mysterious explosion that came from a grave in the local cemetery.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: I've got a detailed description of this universe (which is actually pretty loosely based on SPN) on my page [lonely-huntress . tumblr tagged / headcanons] (hopefully that works if you remove the spaces). Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy the fic so far. By the way, Sarah's finding the five in her bra was no accident. I intended to say that for reasons that will be revealed later in the story.**_

Chapter 2

One year later

Thank fuck my truck was done.

It had taken a whole year and several grand, but I now had my dream Jeep: a Wrangler fully outfitted for a hunter that even had a hidden armory under the floor of the trunk that I'd filled with the basic items a hunter used, however with a slightly smaller supply of holy water...For obvious reasons.

But that's not important. Or maybe it is. Anyway, what matters is this: I was laying on my bed in my motel room in Baton Rouge, Louisiana and my journal was wide open to the tiny amount of info I had on vetalas-if you could call it that. What I really had was the title of the page: "Vetala, the bitches that hunt in pairs."

I sighed in exasperation, combing my hair back with one hand and tossing my pen onto the foot of the bed. Maybe I'd have to wing it this time; roll with the punches. They were shapeshifters of a sort, so I could use my silver knife for starters...even though the chances of that working were incredibly slim.

I glanced up at the door, stared at it for a moment, then decided to continue my work at the bar I'd noticed when I'd arrived in town. It had a distinct look of being a "hunter" bar...well at least it looked like it did.

On second thought, it would probably have a Devil's Trap right at the front door, and then I'd have to torch the place to escape an army of hunters chanting the same exorcism spell at me. There had to be some way I could lock myself into this body and avoid being evicted by a few Latin incantations.

I needed another source of info. A pro that wouldn't kill me on sight and who would be willing to help me with all the research...but for now I was on my own, and had been doing pretty well for the past year; if you didn't count the three times I had to track down a werewolf to finally ice it.

Twenty minutes later I was sitting in the dirt parking lot outside the bar, suddenly rethinking my approach. I'd never been caught in a Trap myself, but from what I'd read my abilities would be severely weakened or completely nonexistent, which would prevent me from snapping my fingers and breaking the wood the Trap was painted on or branded to. "Eep," I muttered, watching a dingy forty-year-old man rush out to his old Crown Victoria and speed off-probably to go kill a nearby monster. Hopefully he was after the vetalas too, then I'd have less work to do.

After sitting in my Jeep for another twenty minutes, I mustered up the courage to get out of my car confidently and strut into the bar like I was human.

I took a seat at a booth in the corner; so far no one was staring at me like I wasn't human...yet. With a couple glances around the place, I pulled my journal and my laptop out of my backpack and opened them both up to the vetala page and Google respectively. I began tapping away at the keyboard, using almost every variation of "how to kill a vetala" I could possibly think of...

Until someone passed by my booth, but shortly after did a double-take to see my journal. I heard a gruff, slightly cajun voice asked, "You're hunting a vetala?"

"Two, I think." I finished up my next search before looking away from my laptop; the face that greeted me was...I don't even know how to explain it. This guy had an incredible bone structure for his age: a chiseled chin, prominent but not too prominent cheekbones...and he was a giant. Probably about six foot four or so, give or take. He looked like he could be anywhere between the ages of 25 and 40.

He replied, "Funny, 'cause I'm hunting some vetala too. You mind?" He gestured toward the opposite bench.

"Not at all." I closed my screen halfway and introduced myself.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hunt. I'm Daniel. Daniel Roman," He smiled at me and held his hand over the table, which I shook. Daniel appeared to give me a longer glance than someone normally would give another person. I was prompted to ask, "What? Have I got broccoli in my teeth or something?" I opened my laptop all the way and fumbled for the webcam app to see.

"No. It's just your eyes; I've never seen eyes that are yellow like that before."

I smiled a little, "Well don't worry, it's just some weird-ass birth defect. Makes a good conversation starter...So you said you were huntin' a vetala?" Whoops. My accent was coming back.

"Yep...and it looks like I've got a little more info on 'em than you." He craned his neck to see the empty page of my journal.

"...Yeah. You probably do. I've only been in the business for about a year or so. Most I've got in there is a pretty detailed page or two on werewolves."

"Why?"

"...One attacked my brother 'n turned him." I didn't go into much more detail with this lie; he wouldn't care. I highly doubted we'd ever speak again after this job.

"Oh. I understand. I had a pretty similar experience with a demon a few years back that shoved me into this." He fiddled with the ring finger on his left hand...Had his wife been possessed or something? Stupid curiosity.

"I'd ask, but I don't think either of us are in a position to bear our souls to one another." I glanced back up at him from the forum open in my web browser, seeing that he was getting up but leaving his things on the table. "Where're you going?"

"Drinks," he answered, "Whaddya want?"

"I'll start with a beer, thanks." _ Beer? I hated beer!_ I smiled cordially as he left, catching myself checking his ass out. "_Damn..._" I muttered; soon I was wondering what a twenty-one year old woman eyeing a man in his thirties would be called...a weasel? Nah, that sounded shitty.

Soon enough he was coming back with a couple bottles of Budweiser. "So, are we hunting these things together or not?"


End file.
